


A Study in Love: Part 3

by Rearviewdreamer



Series: A Study in Love (Sherlock au) [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Case solving, Detective Louis, Doctor Harry, Established Relationship, M/M, Sherlock AU, Timestamp, more crime scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:50:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rearviewdreamer/pseuds/Rearviewdreamer
Summary: Louis is back at it solving crimes with the best (and only) partner he’s ever had while loving the best (and still only) daughter he’s ever had on the day she decides to bring home the first boyfriend she has ever had.





	A Study in Love: Part 3

_Thursday. 11 years later. 4:26pm. A hell hole that smells of raw pork ribs. London._

 

The sound of Louis’ feet pounding against the hard resin floor beneath him echoes throughout the narrow passageways of the old butcher’s shop his instincts have landed him in this time. Landed _them_ in, he should say since Harry is running right alongside him.

It’s like a fucking maze back here. Each stretch of dark and damp corridor leading them to another just like it. It’s full of locked doors and other potential hiding places for the six missing people Louis had suspected were being held here somewhere, only to have his guess confirmed the moment he arrived, saw the butcher’s eyes go wide and panicked at the sight of him and his partner, sending the old man running through his own shop to try and make a break for it.

He took off so bloody fast they didn’t even get to exchange the witty ( _all_ thanks to Louis) and underhanded remarks that are so important to the cat and mouse game dynamic. He left before a proper introduction could even be made and Louis could tell him all about how his carelessness and complete disregard for crucial elements of a successful murder plan like tact, discretion _,_ and _intelligence_ for instance, led him and Harry right to him. The man didn’t even try to lie his way out of being caught red-handed which honestly should have just been basic survival instinct. It’s like batshit crazy psychopaths don’t even know how to be decent criminals anymore. It’s insulting.

“We can’t let him get away!” Harry shouts just as their perpetrator takes a sharp left-hand turn, which by general rules of imitation, should entice him and Harry to turn left too, except. Except.

If the mental floor plan of this dingy shop that Louis’ been drawing in his head as he’s led through it like a rat in a maze is as accurate as Louis thinks, and it _is_ , then the sharp left that their very own Sweeney Todd just took will just loop them around in a circle, directly missing the same three hundred or so meters of meat freezer they’ve managed to avoid this whole time. There’s that, and then there’s the sneaky peek over the shoulder the butcher chances at them, but not to check that he’s still ahead by a few feet. To make sure they’re still following his very step.

“Stay with him,” Louis tells his husband before breaking away from the pack to go the opposite direction.

The big metal door isn’t hard to find. In fact, it’s hard to miss with the huge and completely predictable lock rusting away beneath the handle to deter anybody from entering. An ominous sort of warning that doesn’t scare Louis or apply to him as he uses the pin he keeps conveniently tucked inside his coat pocket for occasions just like this. He picks the lock in precisely twenty-two seconds – a personal best record –and as expected, on the other side of the door there is a big, secluded room that’s more than half the temperature of the rest of building. And because the idiot who saw fit to capture six innocent people right from his store front had nowhere else to hold them captive, Louis finds them too sitting along the far wall; bound and gagged of course, but most importantly, alive and unharmed. Which is more than can be said for his partner’s assailant who can be heard crashing to his inevitable surrender somewhere right in his very shop.

Louis begins untying all the captives, listening as a pair of adorably pigeon-toed feet make their way towards him in the freezer room with another, much clumsier pair of feet that sound as if they’re being dragged along. There’s a loud thump and clanking of metal cuffs as the mostly dead weight is deposited right outside the door. Louis glances up to see his husband entering the room, panting and pushing his damp curls off his forehead as he leans against the threshold to catch his breath. His wedding band catches the dim light as it passes through the occasional odd streak of silvery-grey beginning to grace his temples and dust his chin to show his age. It only makes him fitter though. Louis is convinced his husband gets more and more attractive by the day in a phenomenon he has been witnessing for the past twelve years that Louis has been unequivocally and hopelessly in love with the man.

“Look-y who I found. Just _chilling_ ,” Louis jokes to make his husband choke on a laugh he clearly meant to hold in but failed.

“ _Fantastic_ ,” he says, aiming an exhausted yet extremely proud smile in Louis’ direction. “And how is everyone?”

“All alive, as predicted. No one has been made into a meat pie yet or showing signs of hypothermia,” Louis happily reports as he checks them all over again. “Twenty-four limbs still firmly atta- er- hang on,” he frowns as he does a quick recount of the twelve arms and legs that _should_ be there and comes up short until the man at the end untucks his leg from beneath him so that it can be seen. “False alarm! We’re back at twenty-four. Cheers.”

His husband releases the breath he was just holding, fondly rolling his eyes as he digs out his phone from his own coat pocket. “Well, that’s excellent news that The Daemon Butcher of Meat Street was stopped before he ever really got started. Liam will be thrilled.”

Yes, Inspector Payne tends to be quite thrilled when cases end _without_ people being murdered, chopped into bite-sized pieces, and served up on a plate.

“Daemon _Butcher_ , huh?” Louis smirks as he moves to untie the last of the people they just saved. “Clever little title. Impressive, babe.”  

Harry beams from where he’s dialing Liam up, looking better than anyone should have the right to with the way his left leg cheekily crosses over his right to make them stretch on for days. “Oh, I know,” he answers. “That’s one of the reasons you keep me around, _partner_.”

 _One_ of the reasons is right. There are hundreds of thousands of reasons he keeps Harry around. Starting with the way he’s looking at Louis right now like there aren’t six other people in this room. _Seven_. Seven other people Louis realizes when his and Harry’s wordless (and admittedly slightly inappropriate) staredown is interrupted by a gruff voice out in the corridor.

“ _I want to be known as The Flesh Carver!”_

Louis rolls his eyes. It’s always the ones who suck at being evil masterminds that want to make diva demands. “Yeah, mate, pretty sure attempting to force the people of London into cannibalism makes anything you say null and void so you’ll take what he gives you!” he shouts back at him. “Also, Daemon Butcher is fucking _genius_ ,” Louis adds causing Harry to snort into his phone mid-sentence.

“Sorry, that’s just Lou arguing with potential killers again,” he chuckles with a fond look over at him. “Right, so we’re over on Meat Street. I know! What are the odds? I’ve already got the perfect name picked out.”

 

Their favorite inspector arrives a few minutes later along with the rest of his team. Liam’s right in the middle of congratulating the two of them on yet another solved case and noting Harry’s knack for clever titles when a simultaneous vibration of both their phones interrupts him. 

“Er- Just a sec,” Louis says at the same time Harry momentarily excuses himself to frown down at the bizarre message they both just received from Louis’ sister of all people.

‘ _Hi, there! Will be a bit late. Running behind, but so excited to see you all. Love you. Be there soon. Also, can’t wait to meet the bf! Xx – Lotts’_

“ _Shit_.” Louis looks up from his phone at the outburst, noting the way his husband’s eyes have done that guilt-ridden squinty thing they do whenever he remembers something he previously forgot. “ _Shit, shit, shit_ ,” Harry repeats. “Mia’s back from that music thing tonight and we forgot about dinner.”

Liam gasps as well, now checking through his phone calendar. “Oh, that’s right. Lauren reminded me this morning but I got so caught up with this, I almost forgot. Glad you said something, mate.”

“Shit, Lou, we’re officially like, the worst parents ever,” Harry claims, roughly running his hands through his hair. “We didn’t even cook anything.”

Louis can see how the realization of them having no food might be stressful to his husband; complete nurturer, lover, and coincidentally, _worrier_ of all things domestic such as meal times and the preparation of which when they have guests, however, Louis fails to see the crisis here. Mia’s been off at that posh music retreat eating fancy food for the past six weeks. She’s probably thrilled to get away from all that and spend a nice and normal night together with her family eating something she actually likes.

“First of all, we’re _awesome_ parents. And so what, babe?” Louis shrugs. “That’s alright that we didn’t cook. We’ll just order some pizza or something.”

It wouldn’t be the first time work has forced them to order in and yet Harry looks at him as if he just suggested they eat dirt.

“ _No!_ No _pizza_ ,” he frowns. “This is her welcome home dinner. People are coming over _and_ she’s bringing Grant remember?”

 _Fucking Grant_. How could Louis forget?

“Aw. We’re finally meeting him, then? How cute,” Liam coos with a sentimental gleam in his eye.

Louis shoots a traitorous glare at his friend as well as his husband who also cracks a smile while frantically typing out a grocery list on his phone as if the bloody Queen is coming to dinner rather than some brown-eyed, blond-haired kid born to Michael and Kelly Albright in the spring of 2002, weighing in 3.6kg at 3:52am with a penny-sized birthmark over his right shoulder blade. At least, that’s what Louis got from the birth certificate he pulled from St. Barts’ archives while Niall was in the bathroom after Mia called home practically raving about him.

“Oh, yes, of course. The infamous Grant is coming,” Louis says with as much enthusiasm for his daughter’s so-called ‘boyfriend’ as he can manage. _“Just_ _bloody terrific_ ,” he mumbles, unable to stop his eyes from rolling.

 

_Same day. 6:37pm. 221b Baker Street. London._

The somber tones of Shostakovich’s _Violin Concerto No. 1_ drifts across the flat to the kitchen where Harry is just getting the final touches of Mia’s big welcome home dinner ready. Of course, all the tell-tale signs of him and Louis not actually _cooking_ said dinner are currently strewn around it, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed, or, you know, promptly hidden away. Several giant bags and containers from the Italian restaurant down the street are subsequently removed from sight. Meaning so long as the bin stays closed and Julep doesn’t go snooping, no one should realize why Harry’s typical go-to meal of angel hair pasta and pesto sauce suddenly tastes so amazingly authentic.

Attributing his newly improved culinary skills to all the free time he and Louis have had while Mia’s been away all this time is always an option. It’s a complete load of shit of course because they’ve hardly cooked at all since she left. However, it’s probably way better than admitting that the only thing he and Louis have been doing in their daughter’s absence these past six weeks besides crime solving is fucking like teenagers on every available surface they can find simply because they can. Sometimes even on surfaces that are still covered.

Once all the evidence of _Stefano’s_ delivery is gone, Harry begins digging through the cabinets for wine glasses. They’re mostly hidden by all the beakers and other random miscellaneous items he and his husband have accumulated over the years, but he manages to find some. He sets out ten mix-matched but clean glasses on top of the smooth marble countertops. Well, _mostly_ smooth anyway. They have a few dozen nicks and chips here and there from years of withstanding impromptu science experiments, machete swings, and samurai blades, but Harry chooses to view all those small imperfections as adornments to their home rather than blemishes. Each one gives their little flat character and just makes Harry fall deeper in love with it. As well as the two troublemakers responsible for giving it such charm; his slightly neurotic yet completely incredible and lovable husband, and their amazing, beautiful daughter who has always been Louis’ little partner in crime.

Funny thing is, she’s not so little anymore. Not even close. The fact that she just spent a whole six weeks without them is proof enough that their little girl is growing up right before their eyes. Her finally coming home and bringing her first boyfriend along to boot makes that fact even more impossible to ignore. No matter how much he and Louis (though _mostly_ Louis) may try.  

The lovely solo piece that Harry’s been enjoying listening to screeches to a halt mid-phrase at the sound of the first series of knocks at the front door, signaling the arrival of their very first guest. It’s Niall. Harry can tell by the almost non-existent pause before he starts knocking again in his impatience to be let in, and yet Harry doesn’t hear any movement from the living room indicating his husband rushing to the door to greet him like usual.

Harry pauses his progress in the kitchen to peek in at his husband, the majority of whom is still concealed by the back of the armchair he’s been hiding in for nearly two hours. All Harry can really make out are small glimpses of the handsome charcoal button up Harry had to bribe him into wearing for the occasion and the top of his head which contains wisps of distinguished grey amongst his usual chestnut. He always looks so good all dressed up. Even whilst full-on pouting as he has been since they left the comforts of the butcher shop to come play host to their loved ones.

“Hmmm. Babe? I think someone’s at the door. Sounds like Niall maybe?” Harry tries to entice him, biting down on a grin when his husband glances around his armchair with the flattest face ever.

“You know it is,” he mutters as the knocking picks up again. “Who else could be _that_ obnoxious.”

“Aww, come on, love. Maybe he’s just excited to see you,” Harry chuckles over Louis’ mumbled, ‘maybe he’s just excited to be _annoying_ ’. “If you let him in, you get to tell him all about the case and you get to tell him how you figured out it was the butcher holding all those people captive with nothing but a bank statement and a completely unassuming two-star review on Yelp.”

If anything, it’ll help distract him from brooding so much until Mrs. Hudson arrives with Mia. And Grant. Poor boy.

His husband thinks it over for several beats, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair in a steady rhythm before hopping up with the usual spark in his blue eyes returned at full force.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to brief him and Amanda on the details.”

“Nope. Couldn’t hurt one bit,” Harry smiles sending his husband off to brag to their friends and almost forgetting the most important thing of all. The alcohol. “Oh! The merlot and all the glasses are in the kitchen. I’ll go grab four.”

“Three,” Louis blurts out in correction making Harry’s brow furrow as he recalculates the math in his head and comes up with the same sum as before.

“No, love, so far that’s me, you, Ni, and Amanda. _Four_ ,” Harry reminds his husband who just grins at him with that knowing expression he always wears when he knows something that nobody seems to be in on. “Er- It is four? Isn’t it?” Harry second guesses himself, recounting for a second time just to be sure he’s not fucking losing it.

“Of course, love. How silly of me. You’re right. Four glasses.”

Harry can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or if hell has frozen over and Louis actually miscounted, however he receives a weirdly smug grin and a reassuring kiss on the lips that still leaves him feeling like he’s missing something as his husband finally ventures across the room to let in their guests.

In the kitchen, Harry gathers everything they need to get the night started over the sound of Niall berating his best friend for taking his sweet time answering the door just because he’s been in a permanent mood for the past three weeks. Niall seems to feel more at ease though when Harry appears to greet the couple with some much needed and appreciated alcohol. Harry quickly pops the cork on the wine and starts distributing it into four glasses with the help of his husband who smirks like the devil himself when Amanda politely rejects hers, just as predicted.

“Wait- Lou, how did you-?”

Harry’s question goes unfinished and unanswered as Louis loudly claps his hands together before leading everyone to the sofa to start off spinning their tale of investigation and adventure that led to the daemon butcher’s demise. It’s always so much fun hearing their cases retold from Louis’ perspective. _Especially_ when there’s drinking involved which Liam and Lauren and Lottie will all want to be a part of too when they arrive any moment. They’ll also want wine.

“Be right back. We’ll need two more glasses,” he whispers, gently squeezing his husband’s hand as he stands to leave, but Louis doesn’t let him go too far.

“Just one will do,” Louis answers in the middle of his story before resuming it making Harry’s brow furrow even deeper than last time when Louis contradicted his basic counting and addition skills.

“O-Okay. Just one, then,” Harry agrees with apprehension as he reclaims his seat, but he doesn’t dare argue with Louis’ logic.

He’s right literally ninety-nine percent of the time which can be maddening since that means everybody else including Harry is wrong just as often. But, Harry won’t complain. It just comes with the territory of living with and being happily married to the most brilliant man on Earth. Even if he is a show off.

***

The big window in front of the armchair has always given Louis comfort. Open window, open mind as he’s always said. It’s just something about the view and the familiar scent of Baker Street wafting past the curtains with the cool breeze that helps him think better. See better. _Hear_ better. And, in times like these with their flat filled to the brim and bustling with friends, loved ones, and one teenage freckly-faced outsider whom no one else seems even slightly concerned about even though he could be capable of literally _anything_ –Louis’ train of thought wasn’t meant to derail so far into _Grant_ ville, however, the point is sitting here with his back to everyone helps him spy on everyone else.  

There are exactly ten people inside the flat right now including Louis; eleven if he counts Julep, and Harry certainly would. That’s eleven heartbeats, none of which Louis can currently make out, but what he _can_ hear are footsteps. Lottie for one is still in her heels; true to form as always, however Lauren and Amanda have chosen to abandon theirs and are now barefoot as is to be expected. Niall is near his wife over by the large bookshelf but not quite beside her, laughing louder than is probably necessary at the story Mrs. Hudson is regaling everyone with about the grenade-sized hole in the floor from a trial testing session gone slightly wrong a few months ago. The evidence of which allegedly runs straight through their living room to her guest room closet, however, Louis has never seen any proof of this claim and therefore continues to ignore her accusations that he ruined her ceiling.

Liam is relaxing on the sofa, a place he’d certainly think twice about sinking into if he knew the _arousing_ events that transpired on it while he and Harry waited for their morning tea to boil. Though, Louis isn’t the only culprit there. Harry is largely to blame for that and is currently sitting right next to their friend on the sofa in what is most likely an effort to hide the massive stain left there by him coming so hard that he couldn’t move for several minutes afterwards. Now, _that_ Louis takes full credit for. Proudly.

Besides Julep purring in Louis’ lap as per usual, that’s everyone in flat 221b accounted for. All their dearest and most loved people in the world. All of course except for tonight’s special guest of honor. A beautiful and beyond brilliant fifteen-year-old who is currently hanging out in the kitchen (typical), and who really isn’t a guest at all since she has lived here with them practically her entire life. Mia. Their talented, gifted daughter who had the nerve to break her poor parents’ hearts by leaving them for six whole weeks. They’ve never missed someone more than they did every day that she was away and Louis has never been happier finally having her back. The flat’s not the same without her. _They_ aren’t the same without her. But, thankfully, that all changes tonight because their little girl is home. True, she walked in, kissed them both and then introduced them to someone else’s little boy whom Louis was neither endeared or impressed by like his traitor of a husband clearly is, but that’s alright. Grant managing to weasel himself into their family night is just fine. Louis will simply have to keep a close eye on him along with the standard location tracker, international facial-recognition surveillance, and Google alerts he already has in place.

You know, just to be on the safe side.

“Babe? We’re ready to start,” someone says right next to him as they perch themselves on the weathered arm of his chair.

Louis doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Harry. He can sense it just from the familiar heat of the hand caressing his shoulder and the bare toes playing at the hem of his pants leg. The merlot on Harry’s breath combined with his cologne are other dead giveaways, but it’s not like Louis’ going to complain about the many splendors of having his husband this close. Louis is forced to roll his eyes anyway. Though it has nothing to do with his husband practically sitting in his lap ( _with Julep_ ) and everything to do with the suspicious, overpolite little flatterer he can hear laughing somewhere in the kitchen with his daughter.

Harry’s lips are much redder than usual and pulled up into a tipsy smile when Louis finally meets his gaze.

“ _Be nice_ ,” he chastises teasingly, only making Louis scoff at what his husband is implying about him.

“I’m always nice.”

“You tried to lift a hair from his jacket when no one was looking.”

Yeah, he did. And obviously _that_ didn’t work out since that sample was immediately confiscated along with the bloody jacket. He has their eagle-eyed daughter to thank for that. “It was one harmless little hair,” Louis maintains. “No one would’ve _died_.” A small fact that Harry continues to ignore.

“Aw, come on, babe,” he grins instead of arguing. “Grant’s a really sweet kid. Seriously. _And_ , he really, really likes you, Lou! He knows all your famous cases. He’s a huge fan of your work.”

Serial killers often start off as huge fans of someone’s work too, but you don’t see anybody jumping for joy over _that_.

Louis doesn’t say that out loud though. He doesn’t get to before Harry carefully extricates Julep from his favorite napping spot and then does the same to Louis by pulling him up onto his feet, dropping a series of wine-stained kisses to his jaw as he practically drags Louis to the kitchen where everyone else is heading.

*

Louis sits down at their dinner table which is really just an assortment of other smaller tables always needed for holidays and special occasions to make up the giant one they need in order to accommodate all their people.

Everyone takes their usual seats; Niall and Amanda side by side at one end across from Liam and Lauren. Lottie and Mrs. Hudson usually take up the opposite end of the table with their respective plus ones whenever applicable, leaving Louis, Harry, and Mia to squeeze in next to them somewhere in the middle, however the addition of a random extra has thrown everything off leaving Mia stranded across the table from them, beside none other than _Grant_.

He tries not to blatantly stare at the boy, but it’s difficult to not notice his copper eyes darting around each time he notices Louis’ gaze zeroed in on his and Mia’s hands boldly entwined on top of the table. Louis takes a sip of his wine watching Grant do the same more so out of blind nervousness than spontaneity. Something’s up with him with his anxious little gestures and all those nervous little grins he keeps aiming Louis’ way. The boy looks harmless enough with his sandy-colored hair presumably darkened over the years by age and also slightly overdue for a cut. He’s only sixteen. Too young to grow any proper facial hair as is obvious from the peach fuzz gracing his upper lip, and yet he shaved anyway as indicated by the single dot of dried blood on his left cheek that everyone else probably wrote off as another of his freckles but Louis knows is the product of an untrained hand’s attempt to manipulate a razor blade. His shirt’s nice for a family dinner. Practically new since it’s rarely been worn. Just like his shoes that probably only make it out of his closet for special events where he’s obviously trying to make a good impression. The question is why he’s trying so bloody hard in the first place. It’s take away Italian not the Queen’s Luncheon.

The death grip Grant has around his glass is almost as tight as the one he has on Mia’s hand as he chews his bottom lip rather than sipping more of the merlot he clearly dislikes or even joining in one of the multiple conversations going on in the room. He seems _quite_ interested in the ax and bullet holes adorning the ceiling above them as well. Most likely a sign of nerves, but nervous of what? What’s he hiding behind those petrified eyes? He’s not giving off any psychopathic murderer vibes or signs that he’s an evil mastermind spy, but then again, they never do, do they?

“ _Daddy_ ,” Mia says under her breath in a chastising tone that lets Louis know he’s been caught vetting, but he’s still unable to look away from Mr. Anxious with the unnecessarily shaved face sitting beside her and accepting more of a beverage it’s obvious that he hates when Harry kindly offers it. _Suck up_.

“Yes, my love?” Louis answers, half of his attention still on Grant taking a microscopic sip of his refreshed wine reminding Louis of the way Mia would pretend to like the tea she would beg for just so they could match.

Those are the days Louis cherishes the most. He always looks back on them with such fondness for the little family they all became almost overnight. Louis remembers how cute Mia was, even back then when the thought of children sort of terrified him. She would sit right across from him, cheerfully drawing and singing while swinging her little feet beneath the table until they collided with Louis’ kneecaps no less than a hundred times. Not like tonight when one swift kick lands perfectly against Louis’ shin to gain his full attention.

“ _Dad_ ,” Mia repeats as the pair of sweet hazel eyes Louis was just reminiscing over narrow in his direction and then quickly dart to Louis’ left where her other, less-suspicious father is rejoining the group after setting out the food and topping off everyone’s wine minus the two glasses that haven’t seen a drop of alcohol all night and somehow Louis’ adorably oblivious husband has yet to realize why.

Harry’s dimply-smile doesn’t falter as he quietly assesses the situation. In fact, it only grows wider and fonder the longer he takes in the comically wide set of Grant’s eyes, the silent desperation of Mia’s expression practically begging for someone somewhere to intervene, and then there’s Louis himself, sitting there with his mouth agape in horror and downright offense at being accused.

“Babe,” his husband addresses him sweetly, just barely disguising his own amusement. “We’re practicing being _nice_ , remember? You’re scaring the poor boy.”

“ _Me_? I didn’t even _do_ anything,” Louis says in own defense. A pointless effort since his tattle-tale of a daughter snorts immediately after he tries it. He glances down the table for help from Niall and receives none. He receives the same treatment from Liam, Mrs. Hudson, and even his own sister. Traitors, the lot of them.

“That’s a lie,” Mia hisses making Louis throw up his hands. “He was literally just staring at Grant and doing _the thing_.”

“What?! Prove it!” Louis exclaims much louder than is probably necessary, but if Mia’s going to up the stakes with dramatics he should probably follow suit for sake of tradition. “There’s no _thing_! What _thing_?”

“That _thing_ you always do where you find out everything about a person by staring at them for five minutes rather than just asking.”

“Oh, please. That’s ridiculous,” Louis scoffs in response to her ridiculous claim. “Five minutes is much too long. We all know it only takes me less than two.”

It was a joke (sort of), and a damn funny one at that if the little smirk Mia accidentally sports is anything to go by. It quickly dissolves once she remembers they’re currently on opposing teams due to Louis terrifying her boyfriend. Which, in truth, could possibly be seen as insane or even slightly ill-mannered, but honestly, where’s the fun in _not_ using his great power and celebrity as the world’s best detective to scare the shit out of the first boy brave – _or stupid_ – enough to set foot inside the flat.

The grin on Louis’ face fades when he feels a pinch to his left thigh from his doting husband followed by a loving caress to dull the sting. Neither of which Louis actually minded.  

“Darling,” Harry whispers once everyone goes back to ignoring Louis and Mia as per usual and resumes chatting through their meal. “Why don’t you try talking to him a bit?” his husband encourages him with that sweet, dimpled smile he can never say no to. “Ask him about the violin. That’s something you two have in common.”

Louis can’t imagine he has anything at all in common, but with Harry and Mia both looking at him so hopefully, he feels obligated to at least give it a real effort.

“So. _Grant_ ,” he begins in the nicest voice he can manage while simultaneously eyeing the wine glass he seems to have abandoned now that there’s food on his plate. The wine glass with the foggy lip imprint condensing on the rim with all the saliva and traces of DNA a man could ever need to perform a quick analysis. However, his dreams are instantly dashed when Mia anticipates his plan and a freshly manicured hand skillfully intercepts the sample before Louis can make a move. And for the _second_ time tonight. _And_ after subtly calling him and Harry out on trying to pass off this meal as homemade when she smirked and asked why nobody thought to order garlic bread too. His little girl is doing him proud. She’s an smug little shit which she one-hundred percent got from Louis, but still. Impressive.

“So. Grant,” Louis repeats, resisting the urge to either sigh, scoff, or roll his eyes as he does the boring thing by verbally ‘asking’ someone to tell him about themselves. It’s a ludicrous notion. Louis practically knows everything about him already like the fact that he has terrible balance (raised, flesh-colored scar near his left palm most likely from catching himself on pavement after a nasty fall) and he doesn’t listen to instructions very well (burn mark on his right forearm most likely from a stove someone probably warned him not to touch approximately fourteen years ago). “We hear you’re quite skilled with a violin. Mia says you’ve been playing since you were six.”

The calluses on his hands from years of handling the bow and strings are evidence enough that the boy can play. So were the online records of all his recitals that Louis happened to stumble upon a few days ago during some harmless off-duty research, but Louis plays along anyway.

This is it. Grant’s moment to shine and he must know it because his face turns tomato red the moment he realizes he has floor. Louis holds in the sigh he wants to let out in anticipation of the can of worms he just opened by essentially giving Grant permission to ramble about himself for all eternity. To Louis’ surprise, he doesn’t. Actually, he doesn’t acknowledge the subtle compliment he just got about his music at all, choosing to turn it around and use it to compliment _Mia_ instead.

“If anyone here is quite skilled, it’s Mia. She’s incredible and in more ways than just one,” he says making every head turn in their direction and every pair of eyes go soft as Grant gives her hand a firm squeeze.

Louis hadn’t expected that or the way he suddenly _doesn’t_ want to torture Grant simply for existing. It’s the strangest thing, watching someone else look at his little girl the way Louis and everybody in this room always has because they all love her so much. And just hearing those words from Grant make Mia’s entire face light up and turn rose pink the way it does whenever Harry or Louis go on and on about how talented she is.

“But, it’s no wonder she’s the best with her having such an amazing teacher,” Grant continues. “She says you started giving her lessons when she was only _four_. Taught her everything she knows.”

Louis smiles across the table at his daughter who, for the moment, looks just as she did the day they met when she blushes and smiles back. Her eyes are still impossibly bright and although it shouldn’t be possible, somehow, she’s even more beautiful. And although Louis’ should be more than used to the bizarre fluttery sensation of his heart racing by now, his chest still warms from the inside out just looking at her.

“ _Teaching_ her everything she knows,” Louis corrects him, wondering if his heart is ever going to stop skipping beats. “Present tense. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

Getting to spend all that time with his little girl and make up for the last six weeks she’s been away is just as fun and exciting as the prospect of a brand new case. Even more so if he’s honest.

“We start back up tomorrow, right, daddy?” Mia checks, sounding just as eager to get started as Louis is.

“Right after dinner as always,” Louis confirms, only half-certain of exactly what he’s doing when he turns to Grant next. “Er- Maybe you could join us sometime. That is, if you don’t already have lessons scheduled with your own teacher tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve got a routine to get back into as well, but the offer’s there. I don’t mind.” Louis still isn’t crazy about the kid, but anyone who looks at Mia like she made of sunshine and cares about her as much as Grant clearly does is alright in Louis’ opinion.

“Um, _YES_! Of course, sir, I’d be honored to play for you!” Grant beams as if he just won the lottery.

Mia’s face brightens immediately upon hearing that, making Louis grin against his will when Mia scoots her chair back and walks around their large assortment of small tables to hug him tight around the neck.

“I _knew_ you’d like him,” she whispers. “Love you. Thank you.”

Louis hasn’t actually _done_ anything yet. And Grant has no idea what the hell he’s getting himself into having Louis’ fine-tuned ears listening for even the hint of a mistake and his sharp eyes watching for the slightest drop in form, but ignorance is bliss. The boy seems genuinely thrilled at the moment which is a nice change from being scared shitless so Louis doesn’t burst his little optimistic bubble. He chooses instead to hug his daughter back as warm and tight as humanly possible. “You’re so welcome, love.”

When they let go, the room is still watching them with fond eyes, but none more so than the pair of emerald green ones aimed right at Louis and filled with so much pride his heart skips another few beats.

“ _What_?” Louis complains, unable to keep a straight face as he grins and rolls his eyes.

“You know what,” his husband says with a shit-eating grin of his own tugging at his lips. “Follow-up dinners? _Double_ violin lessons? Practically offering to mentor? I don’t know, babe, it sounds to me like Grant’s officially in the club,” he teases, nudging Louis’ knee with his own. “We might even need an extra table for the next big family dinner.”

“We’re going to need one anyway for after the babies arrive,” Louis mutters, only realizing once the words are out that he wasn’t _actually_ supposed to say them.

Louis winces as the room goes dead silent and multiple forks clatter against plates at the end of the table.

“Wait. Did you just say _baby_?” his husband exclaims.

“Er- _Babies,_ ” Louis sheepishly corrects, “And, yes. Oops.” He turns to meet Lauren’s astounded gaze as a hand protectively falls against her flat stomach.

“Is he right? You’re pregnant?” Liam gasps, looking happier and more teary-eyed than Louis’ ever seen him as his wife nods in answer.

“Louis, how on Earth did you know that? I only just found out this morning!” she gasps, only just now noticing Amanda sitting across from her and holding her stomach as well.

“And I found out just last night. I was waiting for the perfect time to tell you, but I guess that time is right now, so, surprise!” Amanda tells Niall sending him and the entire room into a celebratory pandemonium so loud Louis’ certain it can be heard out on the street.

The two mothers-to-be hug across the table each gush about how they hadn’t told a soul yet. Not even their husbands who can’t stop sniffling and congratulating one another.

“So, _that’s_ why you kept insisting we didn’t need so many wine glasses! How long have you known, babe?”

“Well, neither of them finished their desserts when we all went out about three weeks ago, their trips to the bathroom have been steadily increasing, Amanda’s hair is glossier and fuller than ever due to a sudden surge in hormones, Lauren can no longer stand the smell of Liam’s cologne and cheese for the same reason, and plus, they both have that unexplainable, undeniable glow about them that can only be the result of a pregnancy. Or _two_ pregnancies in this case. Cheers.”

“Your dad guessed that they were both pregnant before _they_ even knew? That’s _so_ cool,” Grant whispers to Mia, clearly impressed as he should be, but also, misinformed.

“Oh, he never _guesses_ , Grant. Louis simply pays attention,” Harry proudly boasts for him making Louis realize this is technically his _second_ solved case of the day. He’s on a fucking _roll_.

“It’s true, Grant, in fact, my extreme attention to detail is precisely how I solved another case tonight. I hear you’re a fan of ours. Tell me, how do you feel about _almost_ -cannibalism? Specifically, in terms of the livestock industry meant for the everyday typical meat consumer?”

“Feel? _Oh_. Er- Sorry, I’m not really sure I under-”

“ _Fantastic_ ,” Louis answers over several people’s protestations on the subject of cannibalism over dinner and recent pregnancy reveals. “Because, man, do Harry and I have an exclusive for _you_.”

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this quick little timestamp!  
> <3
> 
> [ rebloggable fic post](http://all-these-larrythings.tumblr.com/post/177840526501/a-study-in-love-part-3-6k-by-rearviewdreamer)


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